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OtherLove SpellBooks by Sherrilyn Kenyon:
PARADISE CITY
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LOVE SPELL®
May Published
by
Dorchester Publishing Co., Inc.
Fifth Avenue New York, NY
If you purchased this book without a cover you should be aware
that this book is stolen property. It was reported as "unsold and
destroyed" to the publisher and neither the author nor the publisher
has received any payment for this "stripped book."
Copyright © by Sherrilyn Kenyon
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or
transmitted in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means,
including photocopying, recording or by any information storage
and retrieval system, without the written permission of the Publisher,
except where permitted by law.
The name "Love Spell" and its logo are trademarks of Dorchester
Publishing Co., Inc.
Printed in the United States of America.
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For Cathy-Max, Debbie, Kim, Lorraine, Rickey and
Tanya—the cooks who sampled the soup! As
Max so often says, "I am truly wealthy in friends. "
For my editor, Alicia Condon, who gave me the chance
to do something different.
Laura Cifelli, for all her encouraging words.
And as always, for my parents, family, and Ken.
Without their love and support,
I'd never have come so far.
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Prologue
She drifted out of the billowing smoke from be-
tween the fallen bodies like the Angel of Death
come to claim their departing souls. Her pale
flaxen hair blew in the strong breeze reminding
him of a battle standard.
Daemon blinked at the sight, his eyes burning
from the smoke and sweat, and the stench of
death that surrounded him. A shadow from the
right caught his attention. He turned in his sad-
dle with his sword raised just in time to prevent
the Saxon's seax from slicing his thigh. With
two swift, clean strokes, he finished his attacker
and dared a quick look back at the eerie form.
All Saxon males who remained able-bodied
drew around her in a protective cloak as if they
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would now rally to her favor. Daemon shook his
head at their effort. Their number would scarce
frighten a babe, let alone the Norman army that
had cut through them with little difficulty.
The sounds of battle settled to a raspy silence,
broken only by the occasional neigh of a horse,
or moan of the dying.
"M'hlafdie,why do you come?" one of the Sax-
ons snapped in their coarse native tongue, his
voice carried on the wind to Daemon's ears.
She lifted her chin with a courage to rival
even the bravest of the men and turned away
from the Saxon soldier. "Who leads this army?"
the woman asked in the pure dulcet tones of an
angel as she spoke in Norman French.
"Milord!"
Something grabbed Daemon's arm. With a
curse, he swatted at the pest, but contacted only
air.
Angered over the interruption of his dream,
he blinked open his eyes to see his squire stand-
ing next to his cot.
" 'Tis a messenger from your brother, the
king," Wace said, his youthful face beaming in
the cheerful manner that always annoyed Dae-
mon first thing in the morning.
His lips curled in a snarl, Daemon pushed
back the blanket and rose. "I shall be right out,"
he said, reaching for his breeches and tunic.
What the devil could William want with him
now? He'd quelled the Saxons as promised, and
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now all he sought was freedom to return to the
continent, where he intended to search until he
found another army or cause to fight for.
Daemon tossed his hair out of his eyes and
reached for the tent flap. He saw William's mes-
senger, a frightened-looking youth who paled
considerably when he faced him. Daemon
shrugged the reaction away, a bitterness burn-
ing raw in his gullet. He was too used to people's
reactions to him, too used to the stark terror
shimmering in their eyes as if they feared for
their souls. As if he ever had any use for any-
one's soul, including his own.
"What does my brother want with me?" Dae-
mon asked, his voice gruff to even his own ears.
The messenger's eyes widened as he glanced
up and noted Daemon's mismatched eyes. For
a moment, Daemon feared Wace would have to
bring the man a towel and oil cloth. The man
looked about like a cornered rabbit. "His Maj-
esty the King sends this for you, milord," he
said, extending a bound parchment.
Daemon took it from his hands and broke the
seal. Curiosity riding him hard, he scanned the
contents. His mood darkened with each word
he read. William had given him lordship of
Brunneswald Hall, the demesne lands, and all
outlying territories.
By hell, he'd kill William for this!
His grip tightened on the letter. He looked up
at the messenger, his breathing hard. "Tell Wil-
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liam I'll take care of the rebellion as he re-
quested, but I want him to find a permanent
castellan for the manor. I have no use for such."
The messenger nodded furiously. "Aye, mi-
lord. I shall tell him forthwith."
Daemon shook his head, his stomach knot-
ting over William's humor. What was the man
thinking? He had served his brother well; why
would William do such a thing to him?
"Bloody bastard," he said as he entered the
tent, unsure of whom he intended the insult for,
himself or William.
He reached for his armor.
"Who leads this army?"
Daemon whirled at the sound of the voice in
his dream, but saw nothing. An ache spread
through him, an ache whose source he couldn't
name. 'Twas always the same, though. Ever
since he'd landed at Hastings with William, he'd
been haunted by the dream of a fair maiden
coming for his soul.
Grunting, he realized it was more than likely
a warning of his death. Aye, he would welcome
the moment and the peace it brought with open
arms.
